Space
by WhimsicalWriter4
Summary: They made it. They made it to the Ark, and now the teens take a much needed break. But what exactly does this mean for them, now that they have no monsters to battle, no people to save? What now? My take on a long-overdue conversation between Bellamy and Clarke, possible now that they have finally run out of distractions and are faced with only each other.


I needed something to keep me until the finale, and I wanted to explore the possibilities before they were defined. I didn't mean to make this sound like a review or goodbye to the show, but it seemed like now that Clarke and Bellamy can at last sit, they have a lot to discuss.

Reviews greatly appreciated :)

Enjoy!

* * *

Bellamy sighed and shifted his feet, putting the right one on top instead of the left. Hands behind his head, Bellamy lay flat on his back. It was strange having an entire room to himself.

The Ark was strangely quiet, but he couldn't sleep. Monty and Raven had assured everyone the Ark was safe for the night, nothing needed to be done until morning. But it was the first time in forever that there was nothing Bellamy had to do or think about, and he didn't quite know _what_ to do.

What he'd _done_ was go to his room. So did everyone else, though Bellamy suspected, no _knew_ , they didn't all have their own rooms. He didn't fault them for it, was honestly a little jealous they didn't have to face the quiet alone. Instead, he had carefully chosen the room next to Clarke. She was sick but hadn't let any of them near her. Bellamy figured he could at least be close, even if he didn't really know anything about treating radiation poison— _no_ , sickness. Poison meant she wouldn't recover. Clarke was a nightblood though, so she would recover. She had to.

He closed his eyes experimentally, suspecting it would help him sleep.

A door clicked, and Bellamy was wide awake. He lay still, waiting. Shuffling feet moved past his door, a palm slapped against the wall followed by a soft thud.

Bellamy was out of bed and standing in his doorway so quickly the security cameras would only show him in bed and then at the door. If they were working that is. "Clarke," he said softly.

Clarke looked up at him from her knees. Her eyes were ringed with red and blood ran down her chin. If it wasn't for the small boils on her neck, he'd say she had the virus Murphy had brought into camp so long ago. "What?" she choked out.

"This is my room."

"Mine…"

"Is one door down." Bellamy pointed helpfully as he knelt beside her, steadying Clarke with one hand on her waist, one on her shoulder. "If that's what you were aiming for, you missed."

Clarke managed a smile.

"Almost as bad as your shooting skills." He stood, easing her up with him.

"That's on you." Her voice was raspy, like her throat was raw. "You taught me."

"Not well enough, apparently." When she staggered, he lifted her into his arms.

"You quit too soon."

He had. He remembered the bunker, dark and damp, how confused he'd been when he touched her shoulder and it didn't feel how he'd expected it to. It had felt like something bigger than shooting a gun.

"Put me down."

"So you can fall on your face again? No can do, Princess." Besides, he liked how her arms snaked around his neck and pulled her closer still. After everything, the only way to know Clarke Griffin was safe was to keep her this close. Any less and she might turn around and swallow a chip or inject herself with nightblood or something else equally stupid and self-sacrificing and noble.

Bellamy stepped out of the doorway and into the hall.

"Where are you taking me?"

He looked down to see her eyes were closed. "Medical," he replied. "I'm going to get you cleaned up and whatever the hell else you need."

"I'm fine. Luna recovered; so will I."

"Damn straight," he agreed. He wouldn't let her die. "But you still need to take care of yourself, and lying in front of my door is not the way to do that."

When they reached medical, Bellamy started an IV (under Clarke's careful instruction). He found soft cloths and, using as little water as possible, gently cleaned the blood and sweat from her face and neck.

Clarke reached up and brushed her fingers against the boils on her neck. "I must look like a monster."

"I've seen worse."

"You're tired," Clarke observed. This close, under the bright lights in medical bay, she could see the dark circles under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged.

"So are you." He noticed she was squinting in the bright light and shut a few off, going from bright to dim.

Clarke scooted so her back was against the wall. She patted the spot beside her. "If I'm resting, so are you."

"You have radiation sickness," Bellamy objected. "I'm just tired."

"Bell…"

"I'm fine."

"Great. So am I." She stood. "I guess I'll just head back to my room then."

"Clarke," he drawled. "Don't be stupid. Sit and rest."

Clarke stared him down.

"Please," Bellamy requested, becoming more urgent when she swayed unsteadily.

She didn't move, at least not purposefully.

When Clarke nearly fell over, Bellamy caught her and sat on the bed, pulling her back to the wall with him. "Stubborn," he muttered. But then he froze. Bellamy wasn't used to having Clarke this close, and he was confused by how his senses were suddenly and simultaneously addled and heightened.

"Do you remember when we brought the hydrozine to the lab?" Clarke asked.

"When Roan tried to be a flying squirrel?"

Clarke laughed, then leaned forward to clutch at her ribs with a moan. Bellamy shifted so he could rub her back while she struggled to breathe normally again.

"I remember almost having a heart attack when I saw the knife at your throat," he confessed. He didn't tell her how scared he'd been when he and Roan had discovered she was missing.

"That would explain your decision to park in front of a bomb that was going sixty miles per hour."

Bellamy shrugged. "It worked."

"So did your harem and 'whatever the hell we want', but those weren't good ideas either."

Bellamy's breath hitched.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." She started to pull away, but Bellamy wouldn't let her.

"It's ok. I was an ass."

"Only half the time."

He chuckled. "Those didn't work anyway. I didn't find what I was looking for, and I almost got everyone killed."

"What were you looking for?" Clarke asked softly.

"I don't know. I just wanted to keep Octavia safe."

"You did."

"But at what price?"

"We save who we can save today," Clarke reminded him.

"We try," he acknowledged. "But we have to look ahead. I shot Jaha for my sister, not for the future."

Clarke was silent.

"Would you believe me if I told you I'd never been violent, not on the Ark?" Bellamy asked. "When I shot Jaha…something…I don't know how to explain it."

"Something inside you broke," Clarke said quietly.

Bellamy nodded.

"Who we are and who we have to be to survive are very different things."

"I don't want them to be," Bellamy said fiercely.

"Up here, I think things will be different."

Bellamy didn't respond. He sat and listened to her shallow breathing and inwardly swore that if she didn't survive this…he didn't know what followed that, but it was something big and powerful and all-consuming.

"After you parked your truck in front of the bomb, you said something on the beach," Clarke persisted. "You said, if we didn't meet again—"

"It was 'If I don't see you again,'" he corrected.

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Then I interrupted you."

"You did. I was pissed."

"And then Roan found the arrow."

"Very observant for the all-brawn king."

"Why are you jealous of Roan?"

"I'm not. He just rubbed me the wrong way."

"And the right way would have been…?"

"Well for starters he could have _not_ kidnapped you," Bellamy began. "Stabbing me in the leg didn't help his case either."

"You're never going to get over that, are you?" Clarke grumbled.

"They were hunting you for something _we_ did. Also it really hurt, getting stabbed up to the hilt in the thigh."

"So that's a no?"

"No," he confirmed. "What did you do while you were gone?"

"I hunted, fished, thought about life. What did you do?"

"I held down the fort, just like you asked. Then Echo lied and Gina… It all fell apart."

"I didn't get to meet Gina," Clarke sighed. "I wish I had."

Bellamy took a shaky breath. "You would have liked her."

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Clarke."

"You left to come save me at the Conclave, and I—"

"I believed Echo's lie, and I tried to save people who didn't need saving."

"If you hadn't left, you might have died."

"Raven and Sinclair got out."

"I know it's selfish, but I'm glad you ran to Polis."

ALI had been right. He'd loved Gina, but he hadn't been as devoted to her as he had been to Clarke. That didn't mean it didn't hurt. Far too often he fell asleep with the horrible feeling that if he'd just given Gina his all, instead of what was left over after Octavia and Clarke, things would be very different.

Did he want that?

"I didn't even know if you were alive after Roan stabbed you," Clarke continued. "Not until you showed up at the Conclave."

Bellamy tried to shrug off her concern, but his shoulder jostled her, and she nearly lost her balance.

"Why are we talking?" Clarke asked suddenly.

"Because I'm afraid to let you fall asleep," Bellamy confessed.

"Is this ok?"

"Talking? Sure, why not, Princess?"

"I just, we've never talked this much in one sitting."

Bellamy chuckled. "We don't usually get to sit, either."

"So we're talking because we have the time to sit?"

He moved so he sat in front of her. "We're talking, Clarke, because we haven't had a chance to process anything. Now everything is still, and there is nothing either of us can do, and we trust each other."

Clarke was silent. Had he presumed too much?

"At least I trust—" he began.

"I trust you," she cut him off quietly. "Can we process the pretty flowers and glow-in-the-dark butterflies that we left behind? Do you think more radiation will make them glow more? Or maybe they'll grow to the size of trees."

"Let's process the two-headed deer," he proposed instead with a smirk.

Bellamy _felt_ Clarke's shudder on the cot. "No thank you," she said firmly.

"The sea monster in our swimming hole?"

"The one that tried to eat your sister?" she countered.

"Fair point."

"We could process how much you hated Lincoln at first."

"Or how bad Jasper and Monty's moonshine tasted that first batch."

"What about the Jobi nuts they fed the whole camp," Clarke reminded him. "I am so glad we weren't around for that."

"No," Bellamy agreed. "Instead you got to deal with _my_ monsters.

"At least I learned you weren't as coldhearted as you pretended to be. And that you're a mama's boy," she teased.

"What can I say? I have a soft spot for family."

"Even when you have to make your own."

"Even then," he conceded. "At least you got to learn to shoot during that whole escapade."

"A gain," Clarke agreed.

"You gave me something that day, and I never thanked you for it."

"What exactly are you thanking me for?"

"I'm thanking you for the forgiveness you gave me."

"Well I should do the same." Clarke met his gaze, her bloodshot eyes never wavering. "Thank you for forgiving Mount Weather, and then for forgiving me when I came back. Even after I shocked you to unconsciousness."

"Wasn't the first time." He leaned back against the wall again, too tired to stay in his current position.

"I _never_ did it before then," Clarke objected indignantly.

Bellamy shook his head. "No, the people in Mount Weather did. After they stripped me and rubbed my skin so raw it bled. After I hung upside down and was drained for blood."

"Chocolate cake," Clarke breathed. "I'm sorry."

"Had to be done."

"It was selfish. I wanted Lexa to believe I had no attachments."

Bellamy's breath caught as he waited for her next words.

"It was a lie I told myself. I knew it the second your voice came over the radio."

"After all that, it was really great to hear your voice," Bellamy admitted.

"Did you ever miss the Ark?" Clarke asked quietly, her voice wheezy.

"No. There was nothing left for me."

"I missed, _miss_ , my mom."

Bellamy nodded. "I miss Octavia."

"She's fine. She's a warrior princess," Clarke said with admiration.

"So are you." When he said that, Clarke turned to look at him, and Bellamy realized he wasn't ready to say what came next. So instead he said, "Your mom's fine too. She has Kane."

She sighed, shifting back again. "I know."

"Your mom scares me," Bellamy confessed in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It worked. Clarke laughed. "She's mostly bark," she assured him.

"To her daughter," Bellamy countered with a grin. "You should've seen her face when I came back without you when everyone was hunting the great Wanheda."

"Weren't you bleeding out?"

"That didn't stop The Look."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "You're a horrible storyteller."

"Ask Octav…" he trailed off. "Well when we get back you can ask my sister," Bellamy tried again.

" _If_ ," Clarke countered.

" _When_ ," he said firmly. "I'm getting you to your mom and me to my sister if it's the last thing I do."

"It's not up to you," Clarke pointed out wearily. "It's up to the mechanics."

"It'll be out of my area of expertise, and might involve a lot of threatening—"

"And hovering."

"And hovering," he conceded, "but I'll make sure it happens.

Clarke snorted, then winced and shifted her position again.

Bellamy was immediately alert and in front of her. "Are you ok? Do you need something?"

"Yes," Clarke said grumpily. "For you to sit back so I can lean on you."

"Maybe you should lay down."

"Maybe you should relax."

"I can't relax," he nearly snarled. "My…well _you_ are dying from radiation sickness, and I'm not about to let that happen after all you've been through, damn it."

Clarke smiled. "So sit back and glare my radiation sickness into submission then."

Bellamy sat back with a huff but wouldn't meet her gaze, not even when Clarke pushed his curls back from his forehead.

"You need a haircut," she observed.

"Not really a priority."

"Have you even had one since the Dropship landed?"

"I've been trying to keep people alive, Clarke. I was a little too busy to think about my hair."

"I'll cut it for you," she decided.

"Your hands are shaking." He held the wrist of the hand not up by his head.

"When I'm better I'll cut it," Clarke amended. "Bellamy, don't go silent on me now," she pleaded. "This is nice. Please don't stop. I was teasing."

"You're dying of radiation sickness isn't nice."

"I meant this." She gestured weakly.

"The room?"

Clarke slapped him.

"That wasn't very hard," he observed, concern all too clear in his voice.

"I could hit you harder if you want," she offered, holding up a trembling hand.

"No, you couldn't."

She let her hand drop. He was right. "It's nice sitting here just talking," Clarke explained. "No dire emergencies to take care of."

"None that we can control anyway."

"Yes. No people who need our protecting, or negotiation skills, or crazy rover driving." She nudged him.

"Ok, I've only done that twice. The first was to stop that freak with a knife at your throat, and the other was to save people from black rain. Or try to." Bellamy felt her trembling fingers slip into his hand.

"And the Grounders you hit on the way to the lab," Clarke reminded him.

"They were asking for it, and I was distracted."

Clarke raised an eyebrow, and he felt her doubtful gaze rather than saw it.

"You're distracting."

"In a hazmat suit," she teased.

" _You_ , not how you look," he fumbled.

"Do tell."

Bellamy shook his head and went silent.

"Bell," Clarke coaxed. "I was teasing. I just wanted you to keep talking. It's been so long since we had this, and I can't talk to anyone else like I can to you. Nobody else understands, doesn't judge, just gets it."

"All of it," Bellamy said suddenly, his voice more gravelly than usual.

"What?"

"You asked about the beach, what I was going to say before you interrupted."

"All of it?"

"This." He imitated her gesture to their surroundings. "What we've been through, what we've seen."

"You were going to say all of that?" Clarke asked disbelievingly.

"No. But the trust and honesty and acceptance, everything you just talked about, we built that. Down there."

Clarke nodded.

"And I thought coming up here would be nice," he admitted. "I thought we could leave everything we did behind, start over, get a chance to do it right."

"We can," Clarke assured him. "No one here will—" When Bellamy shushed her by putting a rough finger to her lips, Clarke's eyes widened and she wasn't dozing off anymore. She felt the cot move as he shifted so she was still leaning on his shoulder for support, but now he was facing her and those freckles and the jaw and that little scar by his lip….

"I don't want to start over," Bellamy said. "All of that, it means too much. It changed us. It's there forever, and as long as you'll accept me with that, I'd rather keep it. All of it. The good and the bad."

Clarke knew she was shaking (from the radiation sickness of course). She also knew she opened her mouth when he moved his hand, and she knew her lips were moving like a fish.

"So Princess," he said with a cocky but somehow soft grin. "What do you say to not starting over, but starting something _new_?"

Clarke nodded dumbly.

Bellamy's hand shifted to cup her jaw. "Can I…?"

Another stupid wordless nod.

And then Bellamy kissed her gently. He drew back, making a funny face, and she realized she'd been coughing and vomiting blood for the past few hours.

"I have—"

"I know. It's not contagious," Bellamy reminded her as he gently wiped the blood from her mouth and face with the soft inside of his sleeve.

When he leaned in again, Clarke closed her eyes and brought her hands up to his soft dark curls.

"Is this ok?"

She could feel his hot breath on her face. "Yes," Clarke whispered. "Yes, you idiot. It's ok to kiss me. I love you, and you should shut up and kiss me."

Bellamy chuckled. "I thought you liked this," he teased, still way too close. "Us talking, being honest and processing everything we did."

"Now let me process this."

Bellamy pulled away when she tried to kiss him. "When we were on the beach, and I thought we'd never see each other again, I was going to tell you that I would die for you. That you were the reason I kept trying. That even with the world ending, there was still hope."

"Who knew you were such a talker?"

He grinned. "Octavia, probably."

Clarke slapped his shoulder. "Way to ruin the mood."

"Octavia knew. Your mom knew. Jackson, Monty, Raven, Murphy, Harper, Jasper, Finn," he trailed off, voice growing quieter. "They all knew."

"Knew what?"

"I love you, Clarke Griffin. I was going to tell you I loved you."

They kissed again, and again, and again. Gentle, slow, almost reverent. Then Bellamy settled back against the wall, Clarke in his arms this time instead of next to him, and they both dozed off.

Honest. Trusted. Safe.

Not starting over, but starting something new.


End file.
